Page 35 of House of Lies

“The power went out. I’ll have to call you back later,” I inform Vanya before ending the call.

I rise from my seat and walk to the window, gazing at the patio. The darkness is nearly complete, with only occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the sky. Trees sway in the wind, their branches thrashing against the ground. The raw power of nature unfolds before my eyes. I wonder if my father was ever reminded of his insignificance in the grand scheme of things, his mortality, and the fragility of life. I’m captivated by the power of nature on full display.

We are warriors, solnyshko. Nothing can break us, he used to say.

I turn away from the window, barely able to make out the shapes of the furniture in the office. A sense of serenity accompanies the darkness, a calmness that rarely graces my life. Leaving my office behind, I find solace in the living room, the only part of the house still bathed in dim light. Candlelights flicker everywhere, and an open bottle of wine rests on the wooden table, accompanied by an empty glass. And there she is—Mattia’s wife—lying on the floor between the couch and the table.

“What are you doing?” I approach her.

Another thunder rumbles outside.

“Just enjoying the thunderstorm.” Her voice is raw and vulnerable. I move the table closer to the other couch and then lie down beside her on the floor. She no longer flinches at my touch. I want to draw closer, to inhale her scent for hours, but I fear that if I do, I will never be able to let her go. Tonight, she smells like wildflowers.

“I used to find thunderstorms scary when I was a child.”

“And now?”

“They weirdly soothe me.”

I understand the feeling. I know it all too well.

“Do you trust me, Caelia?” I shift to my side, curling my hand around her hip. She startles her gaze, following the movement of my hand. I caress her thigh, pulling her body closer.

The foundation upon which I’m attempting to build this relationship is fragile, and I fear it could crumble at any moment.

“Yes,” she replies.

I slip my hand under her top, stroking her stomach.

“Is that a lie?” I inquire.

“Yes,” she answers quietly.

Leaning closer to her ear, I lick her earlobe. “Do you want this?”

“No,” she whispers.

“Is that another lie?”

She takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

My hand slips into her shorts, my finger pressing against her clit. I apply pressure with my elbow on her abdomen, keeping her still as she squirms beneath my touch. Slowly, I move my finger up and down, savoring every whimper that escapes her lips. Her red hair spills across the floor, her lips parted, her eyes closed. It’s an image I want to carry to the depths of hell when my time comes.

“Tell me another lie.”

“I wish you a long and happy life.” Her voice is barely audible amidst the storm raging outside.

I curl my middle finger inside her. Her body arches off the floor, her head falling back, her breath growing heavier. Her moans could lull me to sleep. She sees me as her enemy, and I’m okay with that. Mattia is her enemy, and she’d be a fool to let her guard down. The thought of her giving me complete trust appeals to me, though. No lies. No secrets. I can picture that life in my head. I withdraw my finger, drenched in her arousal, and bring it to my mouth, savoring her taste. My palm cups her cheek, turning her head toward me.

“Another lie,” I demand.

“I want you to stop.”

I undress her slowly, tracing the line of her jaw with my lips. Her breathing is heavy in my ear. She lifts her hips, offering herself to me. The silky robe falls off her shoulders. I take off her top. I spread her legs, my fingers slipping between her folds a couple of times. I push two fingers inside her. Her breath hitches, and she looks up at me, desire darkening her green eyes. I squeeze one of her tits, finger-fucking her as deep as I can. I massage her neck, reminding her how easily I could cut off her air supply.

“If you ever touch another man or allow someone else to touch you, both of you will die,” I warn.

“Is that a lie?” she asks.